Bite Of Winter (Fae's Captive #3)(8)

“Get in before I change my mind. And no funny business!”

He smiles, and my sweet stars, I can’t seem to feel my toes. Does he have a clue how gorgeous he is?

With preternatural quickness, he settles in the tub, his thick arms lying along the sides.

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “Don’t look, okay?”

The smile dims a bit, but he turns his head as requested. I strip down quickly and climb into the tub. The water is amazing, so warm that it almost burns. I moan as I sink down, and he pulls me so my back rests against his chest. But there’s something else lurking beneath the water.

“Um, your uh, you’ve got a … It’s kind of pressing against my … Never mind.” I turn crimson and not just from the heat.

“My apologies, little one.” He doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “I can control many things, but that is beyond even my magical abilities.”

A thought rebels against me, careening around my mind and whispering, “Imagine how good that would feel inside you.” I bite my lip and reach for one of the blue soaps next to the tub.

“I said I would clean you, my mate.” He grabs it with his big paws and begins to lather it up between them. “Relax. Ease your mind. I agreed there would be no amusing business, and I meant it.”

“Funny business.”

“Yes, like I said.” He scoops water into my hair with one hand.

I sigh and close my eyes. When he begins to massage the soap into my strands, I let myself go, resting against him as he meticulously rubs my scalp, washing away the worries of the road and our most recent life-or-death skirmish.

“I keep thinking about when I first saw you.” His voice rumbles through the water.

“When I was terrified?”

“You were, yes. But magnificent all the same.”

“That’s a new one. I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘magnificent.’”

“Why did you surround yourself with fools on earth?”

I laugh. “I think you are overestimating me just a bit.”

Strong hands grab me and turn me around until Leander and I are face to face. His is stern, but there is a softness to his eyes. I’ve never seen him bestow that look on anyone else but me.

“You are far more remarkable than you give yourself credit for. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, an alchemist, no less. You are a queen. I knew it from the moment I saw you. I felt it.”

My voice sticks in my throat, and all I can manage is a soft “oh.”

“Why do you feel less than you are?”

I shrug, feeling exposed in every way possible. “I guess I just… I’m not special.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t know.” I do know. “People, you know?”

“Who?” The warmth in his dark eyes turns steely. “Who said such things to you?”

My mother. Steve. I try to banish the thought of him.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“I could feel your fear.” He tilts my chin up so I have to meet his direct gaze. “Why are you scared?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” I try to turn around, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Did someone hurt you?” His face turns stony. “Tell me who hurt you. I will find them, and I will make them pay.”

I reach up and run my thumb down his cheek. “You really would do that, wouldn’t you? For me?”

“I would do anything for you.” He says it with such clarity, as if it’s as simple as ‘water is wet’.

“Someone did hurt me—”

“I will—” I press a finger to his lips.

“But he’s dead. And I don’t want to talk about him while I’m naked in the tub with you, okay?”

He opens his mouth to retort, but then snaps it shut. “I will respect your wishes, but one day soon you must tell me what happened to you. Why you went hungry, who hurt you—I want to know everything.”

I know what promises mean here, how unbreakable they are, but I make one all the same. “I swear I’ll tell you everything one day.”

“I’ll hold you to that, little one.” He gently turns me back around and rinses my hair, his touches immeasurably kind. Working up another lather, he runs his wide palms along my neck and then lower down my back. He kneads as he goes, and what little tension still resides inside me spills out into the clear, warm water.

“That feels so good.”

His low purr is instant.

“You’re like a cat. Why do you purr?”

“Not a cat.” He runs his thumbs in circles along my lower back. “It’s a high fae trait. A reminder of a time when we were more animal than anything else. Mostly, it’s a signal between mates.”

“A signal for what?” I realize the answer right as the question disappears into the air.

His low, sensual laugh surrounds me. “I think you know.”

“Yes.” I decide that maybe talking is a bad idea, especially when I’m tired and saying foolish things. Not because his touch is making me have filthy thoughts. Not because his purr is vibrating in all the right places. Not because, despite the impossibility of the situation, I want him.